Blow, blow, thou winter wind Thou art not so unkind, As man’s ingratitude.My age is as a lusty winter, frosty, but kindly.Now is the winter of our discontent. ~William Shakespeare
Ah but what is courage?
For without fear one would never know.
Words are a way to convey emotions, without words, feelings or knowledge of them would be void.
Courage is not the absence of fear! The word courage originated with the thought of the heart. The heart is considered the seat of emotions, thus the original meaning of courage is heart.
Courage is to face danger; however one perceives it, and hold back the desire to give up or run.
If fear were completely absent, how would you learn how to strengthen your heart?
Courage and fear are reliant on each other. Let’s face it, how many times have we done something we were afraid of, only to face it every time with trembling anyway? Oh, it may become easier, yes but fear will always rise to meet you, lest you forget its existence.
Fear is a natural emotion to teach us about ourselves and how to be human. I’d rather feel than to be so numb, becoming an emotionless ghost walking in a tomb.
Twain understood the importance of standing against the grain in order to renew and strengthen the human heart.
Stay blessed, be you, face your fears in trembling and awe, smile on the inside knowing your heart is excersing its right to feel.
I could tell you tales,
Tales of my wanderings.
I may blab on and on about my triumphs or downfalls, perhaps how I have been very akin to a Gypsy. Except I know not where those words shall lead me.
I must run this course,
The course I’ve planned to write and tell of my spiritual wanders to know thyself.
Briefly, in past posts I’ve spoken of my research. Finding ancestors was like a gold mine because growing up American had stripped me of heritage. I could be told by my mother “I’m Irish, Italian, and German.” My father could say “I’m Danish, French Canadian, Scottish, British.” Except what did it mean to be any of those things? Culture, heritage, language? Everyone would say well, “you’re American.” It still felt strange though because many of my American friends had kept some form of old country language or culture.
I had a hippy mother who loved Jesus and a Norse Pagan father who was born of a Danish immigrant. Christmas, to say the least was interesting. We had a tree every year named Olaf, and a nativity in the corner. I remember wassail and Leif Erickson day, but it was pieces and fragments I didn’t grasp.
Studies of religion brought me through so many transitions in life. I sought Jesus from the age of nine and wandered about until my twenties. I started to cling to Christianity for quite sometime, which led me to Messianic Judaism, and finally full blown orthodox Judaism. I did find great comfort in Judaism and fell in love with the traditions, language, prayers and oral history.
Not knowing yourself can be quite scary, trying to find a place where you belong. I decided to do my DNA and found 88℅ of my blood was North West European. 95℅ is European in general. The German, Danish and British Isles dominated my DNA. These findings left me wanting to connect with heritage. I was so hungry to “take my place among my ancestors” so to speak.
I know all of those regions were Christianized (is that a word :D) but I also know for years they killed each other, Catholics vs. Protestants. I had ancestors on both sides who suffered great losses. I wanted to go beyond that before the conversion crisis as I like to call it. I found my Celtic and Germanic/Scandinavian ancestors worshipped the same gods and goddesses. The names varied by language but they were the same. These are the gods my father and sisters had come to know. I decided I wanted to know them too.
*When the struggle within myself surfaced*
I transitioned so much through religions and cultures, it was as if I hated myself. I ran from the Hansen surname. I remember getting married and double checking that I marked the box to give up my maiden name. Once we separated, I took on various pennames even using my mother’s German maiden name Schramm. There was honor behind my reasoning for using mother’s name but it’s another tale.
How many times would I allow myself to submit to what I thought everyone wanted me to be? How many relationships were built upon hiding behind someone else? It was the worst case of crisis identity. I believe my anger that I held onto against my father was the reason. I kept blaming everyone else instead of realizing, I had captured myself. Prison, I was in a personal prison without cell walls; yet it was such a small, lonely place.
It took me so long but I know who I am. Studying the old heritage and oral history of my ancestors has been water upon parched lands.I see the wisdom in each tale, the dual meanings in each poetic Edda. It is strength to discover who you are and where your roots have belonged all along.
Forever, a perpetual and endless devotion of his absence physically or presently
Oh..but if he knew that forever his essence remained with her eternally
Existing, engraved, etched within her heart and mind like an ancient secret, his hieroglyphics on every inch, he possessed her completely
Would such love, could it, survive beyond their graves? Or will their memory cease to exist? And so she lay haunted continually..
The thought of their love being reborn again shall haunt her, imagining they could reach beyond time, beyond boundaries… To finally, just be, free.
*For the love possessed within thee is immeasurable by all things. May her ghost return to thee and bring peace.
Hyperbole, oh the magnification doth he dare glorify his metaphors so sweetly
Phantom of hearts, lurking, slithering through lives with his guise so wittily
Ingesting, feasting, incubus; stealing away their energy
This threshold, the boundary of my limit presently
Lull me unceasingly to the edge breathlessly
Gaze dropping, descending upon infinity
Plummet into this infinite desolation willfully
Deliverance, rescue from barren love
Lease these wings, glide like doves
Glimpse upon promises, elatedly, I smirk
Recollection, shards of thoughts pierce me, they lurk
Abhorred by many they refused us callously
Comparable of cattle, ships brimmed with our brethren, facing this trial, this calvary
Our Mother land glimmered brilliantly from afar
Our hearts suffered incredibly, as she disappeared, she was no more
They restrained our hands, our feet, setting us ablaze
This chastisement, abuse, an infraction for not following their ways
Extermination the mark, they termed us louse, offal
To shed the blood of the children of Éire, lawful
We did not conform to their will, we are alive
Children of Éire, we rise infinitely, we thrive
We are spanned out beyond the boundaries of our great land
Children of Éire rise up, behold your brother’s hand
With every breath, they breathe, they are in our midst
Shout triumphantly, take pride beloved, the children of Éire, we still exist
*This is dedicated to every child of Éire that ever existed. We are an amazing bunch and though so many of us are scattered we should always remember our Mother land. May our ancestors of the great starvation and the times of slavery smile upon us as we continue to exist.*